Light on the Water
by Dragonbait
Summary: The events of the Second Sorceress War are only just begining. During these trying times, there exists a woman with the courage to defy a Sorceress. Slightly AU Raine x Laguna
1. Prologue

**Light on the Water **

**By Dragonbait**

**Prologue**

If my mother were alive today, imagine what she would make of this world. She would find that her dreams of seeing Sorceress Adel toppled off her gilded throne in Esthar had been realised. She would also find that Esthar had not returned to the kingdom she had performed for once, but a republic--founded by none other than those who had striven so hard to oust the sorceress, countless politicians and statesmen, but most importantly, she would smile at the man who had been ingenious enough to formulate the plan to destabilize and eventually entrap Adel. My father--Laguna Loire.

How she would rejoice in the fact that it had been her lover that had found the brilliant way to ensnare the meglomaniac sorceress, and she would also rejoice in the fact that I, her son, eventually killed Adel. There's a definite sort of poetic and ironic justice in that fact. If I had not been half-mad with grief, trying to find a way to return my beloved wife from a magically-induced coma, I might never have done such an act. Had my archenemy, Seifer Almasy, not forced Rinoa to become melded to Adel during one horrific battle, I might never have delivered the poetic justice that Adel suffered at the hand of Raine Leonhart's son.

The following is a true account of the haylcon years that were my parent's courtship and marriage. As a father now, with two children of my own, I can see the actions of my father in a different light. I do not hate him, nor can I, now that I understand that whatever Laguna did and does, he does in the best interest of all those involved. He knew he was taking a risk when he set out to save Ellone Tudor--my sister, from the hands of the Estharian forces. He knew, too, that my mother was pregnant, and that she had long defied Adel.

All I can say is this: do not think that this is a mere love story set against the turbulent backdrop of the First Sorceress War. Think of it as a story for us all--perhaps not for the cynic, who is probably shaking his head in dismay as he reads the words of a so-called hero's preface to his father's biography--a story that, even though things seemed bad and dark times faced the world, showed that there is indeed an inscruitable and immense courage that resides within each and every one of us--and that no matter how hard we hold on, time escapes us.

The feared Sorceress Ultimecia, a sorceress from a future that is still a lifetime away, once said that time will not wait. She also told us, when we were fighting her, to reflect on our childhood, our words, our sensations, and our emotions. These are the key ingredients in this story: sensations, emotions, drama, words. I cannot garuntee that you will view Laguna Loire as anything but a babbling idiot or that you will view him as possibly the most brilliant and cunning man of this century. But I can garuntee this: it is possibly the most authorative history of the First Sorceress War, the events that preceeded it, the events that followed it--right through to after the seventeen years' silence of Esthar with the rest of the world.

History is not something that everyone sees eye-to-eye about. History tells us what happened, but the rest is left entirely to the interpretation of the scholar. Perhaps this story will be merely a fairy tale in the eyes of the world, but I do know that it is possibly stranger than any type of fiction I have ever encountered. History is strange, our interpretation of the fact is stranger still. However, know that above all, history is made by people--events might shape the course of the world, but it is people who put those events into motion. My mother knew this, as did my father, and countless others who fought and died in the name of whomever ordered them to fight. I myself, have known my fair share of battles, each one carefully selected to ensure the survival of the fittest--Darwinism, one might call it.

But also, history can be rewritten. They can omit details, fabricate lies. History itself is made up of false interpretations, false statements. History covers up the truth, and only after the fact can anyone ever begin to write it down.

This is a true account of the events of the First Sorceress War.

Squall Leonhart.  
Commander of SeeD  
Knight to Sorceress Rinoa


	2. Dark Premonitions

**Light on the Water  
by Dragonbait**

**Chapter One  
Dark Premonitons**

_I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge  
The nighmare I built my own world to escape_  
-Evanescence, "Imaginary"

**------**

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy VIII. Nor do I own Thomas Crichton, who belongs to Gauntlet Challenge, and has kindly given me permission to use her character. I own Colum O'Donahue, Daniel Faulkner and Agnes Flannighan, however._

_**Author's note:** I was inspired by the Joanne Harris books, **Chocolat** and **Holy Fools** and as such, the plot is loosely based on the events in both books--and a lot of history! But, enough with my rambling. On with the story! Also, the title is from the astoundingly beautiful theme song from **Return of the King- Into the West**, and is sung by Annie Lennox._

**------**

The moon shone sweetly in the sky, it's full yellow globe seeming to smile benevolently on the bluffs. Stars twinkled, and the sand grass danced in the summer breeze. Along the shore, the seagulls scavenged for food, scuttling up and down the strip of beach that held bluebottles, jellyfish, and other assorted shellfish and marine life that had been washed up with the tide.

A young woman walked along the beach, her feet bare. They made little marks in the soft, wet sand, as she bent down occasionally to pick up a shell and put it in the basket she carried on her back. The waves lapped gently at her feet, making the hem of the light cotton skirt she wore cling to her legs. Her apparel was not the most sensible getup for walking along the beach at night, yet it was comfortable. She bent down to pick another shell up, placing it into her basket and adjusting the weight of it. Once again, she wondered why she was doing this, and reminded herself that it was for the good of all the townsfolk involved.

Her child trotted beside her, young and happy as usual. She danced along the shore, the waves never seeming to touch her. The child's name was Ellone, named for the mystical goddess that watched over the world, and went by the more common name of Hyne. Ellone was blessed, just like her mother, by the Goddess herself. As Ellone danced along the shore, the gulls took off into the sky, flapping their wings with grace and elegance that only birds possess.

Glancing along the beach, Raine could see that she was approaching the rockpools. Quickly motioning to her daughter, she hurried along to them, hoping to catch some molluscs before the tide washed over the pools once more, burying the creatures and the precious oyster pearls under the sand.

She was lucky this time. The oyster shells were still there. She gathered them up into the hessian sack that she carried in the basket for the purpose. The shells felt rough, sharp in her hands. But they always did. She'd gathered enough oyster shells to make the little flower arangements with, as she always did.

Winhill had been a good town to her. They'd welcomed her with open arms. Her and the little girl, Ellone. They'd come to Winhill almost two or three years earlier, fleeing persecution from Esthar and the uprisings caused by some woman calling herself a Sorceress had started. She'd been a dancer and a gypsy then, and her name had not been Raine, but Rania. Her last name however, Leonhart, never changed, for it was a part of her that she'd never wanted to let go of, no matter how many times she'd forged a different identity.

She didn't know why she'd chosen to take her grandmother's name as her own this time. She guessed it had something to do with the guidance the woman had always given her. But whatever the reason, the name seemed to suit her new persona. The hermit, the empress, the wheel of time. As she laid the cards and read them each night, she'd draw them, looking for guidance when she could.

However, the tide was coming in, and she looked to the horizon to see if Ellone was anywhere in sight. A slight tug at her heart made her feel uncertain, for little Elle possessed a dangerous gift that Adel, if she found out, would send her legions across the countryside and take little Elle away from her. Raine vowed that it would never happen.

As she walked back towards the villiage, Ellone following her footsteps, she could hear a commotion in the square. Quickly picking Ellone up, she ran with the child, fearing for the saftey of the villiage and the people she had come to love. She could smell the braziers of oil burning long before she could see the men. She heard them long before she saw them, their angry voices cutting like a knife through the tranquilty of the night.

And then she saw the cause of the commotion, and her heart beat faster in her chest. _It couldn't be!_ Her mind screamed at her. _No! Not Adel! Please, Blessed Mother...Anyone but the Devil's Right Hand herself!_

Then she calmed herself, seeing that her daughter looked about ready to cry. Bending down to stroke Ellone's hair, she whispered soothing words to Ellone. "Shhh, baby. It'll be all over soon...I promise," she whispered, but her heart told her otherwise. It would not be the last time Adel's men would march on Winhill.

Quickly deciding on a path to take, she hurried through the thicket into the undergrowth where it was safe. She could pass through to the enterance of her house without being noticed that way, and she'd be safe--for now--at least.

"Where is she?" Adel shouted, her voice magnified over the din of the angry townsmen. "Winhill will burn if you don't tell us where the child is!"

Raine felt her heart sieze up. Her breathing grew heavy and her eyes wide with fright. If her secret had been betrayed, then nothing was safe anymore. Nobody was safe.

She saw sour Agnes Flannighan look at Adel with beady eyes. A grim look of defiance was in that sour face, and Agnes spat at the feet of the woman the world had a cause to fear. "There's nobody called Rania Gina here," she said boldly. "You can check all you like, but there's nobody of that name living in Winhill."

Raine's heartbeat returned to normal. _Thank you, blessed mother_, she thought, as she managed to turn the handle of the door with shaking hands. She was safe again. For now, at least.

She went to the cupboard where she kept her cards, shuffling them, pondering the question of why she'd had so close a shave tonight. She dealt them, and looked. They seemed to be telling her that there was more danger to come--the five of swords as the last card down told her more than she needed to know. There would be war, according to her interpretation of the cards.

Raine walked to the window, and looked out onto the square. She saw one of the men who had helped refurbish the pub thrown to the ground by one of Adel's men, and then kicked brutally in the stomach by two other men. Making a sign of protection, Raine left the window.

_Blessed Mother, guide us through these troubled times._

Looking out onto the street once more, Raine decided to help in any way she could, even if it meant forfeiting her life, she'd do what she could to save her friends. Grabbing a long-disused pistol from the top drawer of a sidetable, she snuck downstairs and through the back alley leading to the main square.

They never heard her fire the shot. They never saw her drag a man's body away. They had never suspected that Raine had killed a soldier to save their lives. But that singular action stopped Adel--for now, at least.

The townsfolk looked bewildered as Raine emerged from the building again. They watched, in horror, as she boldly stepped up to Adel.

"Remember me, Adel?" she asked as the townsfolk seemed too shocked to speak.

Adel reeled as she looked at Raine. "I know you," the Sorceress said. "You're...Rania Leonhart."

Raine smirked triumphantly. "Yes, Adel. You know me. You fear me and what I could do to you if I wished," she said.

She made a symbol behind her back of the snake, its fangs bared and ready to strike the unsuspecting victim. If all went well, soon Adel would be desposed of.

Hiding a smile, Agnes Flannighan sent a meaningful look at Raine. Raine nodded at the other woman who had taken her in and accepted her for what she was without any questions. Between the two of them, Raine knew they could drive out Adel for now.

Agnes was a sour woman, who looked like she'd been drinking vinegar all her life. Hardened and rough though she was, she'd taken the young gypsy under her wing, and taught her all she knew about the other gypsy rituals. Her hair was pulled up in a too-severe bun, and her body was wiry. She looked like a shrivelled up prune.

Adel, sensing the fact that it was going to be damn near impossible to trick Raine, motioned to her men. "You'll regret the day you ever crossed me, Rania," she said malevolently.

Raine thought Adel displayed incredible arrogance. "You know, Adel...your arrogance astounds me," she said, "Do you honestly think you own this town--do you think that the lives of these townfolk are worth so little?" Raine spat at the Sorceress's feet, preparing another barrage of words. "I tell you now, you will die if you remain here."

Adel glared at the woman who defied her. Looking at her soldiers, the Sorceress made a decision. She would leave the town--for now.

The following days were a blur. In the wake of the soldiers and Adel the town as usual was given to gossip. When Raine opened the pub up one night, the first influx of customers were the regulars.

She served them, listening all the while to the talk of the men. They were mainly farmers and farmhands, and some of the fishermen who bought the oysters from her once she'd removed the pearls inside them.

"Adel's promising revenge," Thomas Crichton, an elderly man of about fifty-eight said over a glass of stout.

"She's been promising that since I left Esthar without her leave," Raine said spritedly. "Besides, what's she going to do? Jump up and down shouting 'kill her! kill her'? I don't think so."

The men laughed. Raine joined in with the laughter, feeling quite at ease amongst the people of the town.

**-----**

She'd been there almost four years the day the body washed up on the shore. It was a moonlit night and as usual, she'd been walking the beach after the tide had come in searching once more for the precious pearls and sea gems. The body was dressed in the colours of the Galbadian Army's lower-ranking soldiers, a blue combat suit suggesting that the man had been a grunt.

Running quickly back to the town through the scrub, she called for two of the men to come with her to the shore.

"A man has washed up on the shore," she said, breathless from running the three kilometres from the beach to the town. "He's a Galbadian, not an Estharian, so we can trust that he's not here to take Elle."

Two men came forth. A young farmer by the name of Daniel Faulkner, and another named Colum O'Donahue--a fisherman, were the two who went with Raine to the shore. By then, the people of Winhil had grown to like Raine immensely, despite her unorthodox lifestyle, for her generosity, compassion and charity that she demonstrated, even to those who disliked her.

"Alright Raine. Show us where he is," Colum said. Nodding, Raine led the two men to where the soldier's body lay.

"He's in bad shape," Daniel observed, as he and Colum managed to lift the man into a standing position.

Together, the four of them somehow made it back to the town. Raine called for Agnes, who came, a worried look seemingly etched permenantly onto her face. She brought with her the medical kit which she carried.

Removing the latex-cotton suit, Raine had to disugise the horror she felt when she saw the extent of the injuries suffered by the man. She knew, just from feeling his arms, that all the bones had been either fractured or broken, and that the welts from the shotaxe would leave permenant scarring on his back.

What Raine was unaware of was that the soldier had come to protect the town, to warn them of the impending war that was sure to come. It was to become her job to nurse the man back to health.

"What's his name?" Colum asked, rifling through the soldier's possessions that were on him when they rescued him.

"Dunno," Daniel replied, searching the suit for concealed pockets.

But it was Agnes who discovered the soldier's identity. The dogtags around his neck had been removed and put aside for later examination, but had not been examined yet. She held one up to the light, watching as the transparent perspex material showed faintly the etchings made by the engraver's tools.

"Laguna Loire," she said, as she made out what the words said. Agnes looked over at Raine. "The Loires are good people. Their family is one of the oldest Galbadian families around, older than the Delings are, actually."

Raine nodded, stroking the dark hair that was matted with blood and salt from the sea. So he had a good name. She idly wondered how such a man had come to the town, seemingly washed up on the shore by chance.

_Perhaps it was fate?_ she thought, looking through the window into the town square. The day was paling into dusk, the sun dipping down below the houses as it said goodnight to the world. The stars were just starting to make an appearance in the sky when a commotion in the pub downstairs made Raine leap up.

She'd completely forgotten about the pub in the wake of Laguna's arrival. "Oy! Col, can you open up tonight?" Raine called from the stairs. Colum nodded, and headed downstairs to open the pub and pull pints for the rest of the evening.

Raine turned back to Agnes. "I don't want him to die," she said softly. There'd been too many deaths she could've prevented had she used her skills acquired from being a gypsy. It was easy for her to set bones, purge the body of toxins, deliver babies, and a whole plethora of other useful skills that came in handy when she was in a pinch.

Agnes nodded. "It'll take a while for those wounds to heal. I'd suggest Bhemoth Balm for the back," she advised, and Raine nodded.

_I should have some in my kit_, Raine thought, walking over to a cupboard where she kept the tarot cards and her other gypsy equipment. There was a harp in the cupboard, from days when she'd sang for the court of the King of Esthar---when she was just a lass of seventeen, in the days before Adel.

She fingerd the instrument lovingly, but did not take it out. It was too precious to take out of the cupboard. She found the balm, and walked back over to Agnes, handing the jar to her as she sat beside the bed.

Looking around at the walls, Raine noticed, for the first time, just how shabby her place looked. It was kind of embarrassing that she spent most of her time refurbishing other people's places for them while neglecting her own. However, that was inconsequential. She felt a pang of embarrassment, perhaps thinking that if Agnes were to look really close at everything, she'd see all the grime and dirt caked onto the windows from years of disuse.

"Ugh...my head," it was a masculine voice speaking and Raine, sitting beside the bed on a little stool was confused by its origins, but suddenly realised that it was the man who was lying on the bed that had spoken. He seemed to be painfully trying to sit up, but Agnes stopped him from doing so.

"You need to lie down...We're setting the broken bones and trying to ease your pain in any way we can," Agnes said gently. She felt two waves of different emotions flooding her senses. Pity. Compassion. She wasn't sure which one of the two was greater, but she knew that if she pitied him, she would be resented after he was healed.

Raine could hear the conflicting emotions in Agnes' voice. _Poor man..._ she thought, _It's not right that Adel can commit great acts of attrocity and never be put on trial as a war criminal._ "How'd it happen?" she asked.

"Dived off a clif into a waiting Galbadian transport," he replied. "Unfortunately--" and he grimaced with pain,"--I hit the ocean like an egg hits concrete."

Raine hid a smile at the analogy. It had happened too many times for her liking. The last time she'd treated someone who had hit the ocean like that, the patient died just as she was getting better. Raine hoped that it wouldn't be the case for this one.

"Don't talk," she admonished gently, "You just need to focus on getting better."

Seemingly greatful, Laguna's eyes drooped closed again and he was fast asleep within seconds. Raine continued to stroke his hair gently, like a mother would soothe her crying baby. Ellone came and sat next to Raine, on her tiny stool that had a wobble in it. Seeing her daughter, Raine brought the child onto her lap, so she could hold her.

Raine and Ellone watched for several hours as Laguna slept. If Agnes had not said that she'd let Raine know if there was any change in his condition, Raine would've stayed up all night--not sleeping, just waiting.

"Go to bed, dear. I swear on the name of the Blessed Mother that I'll wake you if his condition changes," Agnes said, as she practically pushed Raine out of the room. Admitting defeat, Raine did go to bed. But she couldn't sleep, lying uncomfortably in the bed, the sheets somewhere down around her ankles, and the doona on the floor. Tossing and turning, and finally admitting she couldn't, Raine jumped out of bed.

_Perhaps I should just look at the cards...They'll help me sleep, I hope_, she thought, going to the cupboard for the precious things. Her fingers brushed against the harp once more. Decisively, she pulled it out of the cupboard, holding it against her chest.

Once she had sat down with the harp lying across her lap, she began tuning it by ear. Listening to the notes, she strummed a few chords, and was delighted that it was just perfect. Now, she needed something to play while she had it out. Her fingers played over the old strings gracefully. Finally deciding on an old piece she'd learnt years ago, she played the opening bars of it.

She wasn't sure what had prompted her to play the old ballad, but whatever it was, it was a welcome change. Her songs usually had been made up on the fly, and normally she could never recall what the words were when she wished to write them down for a future time. Her fingers continued plucking the strings of the harp, softly picking out melodies and little tunes as she did so. Perhaps it was the music that loosened her mind and allowed her to think over the importance of what she'd said to Adel those years ago.

_I can't remember it, but she fears what I could do to her if I wished...It's so easy when you've betrayed Adel to become someone she fears, if not only for her own sake, but for the sake of Esthar. She's a meglomaniac, and I know her desire is to rule the entire world eventually. Someone has to stop her..._

She remembered the resistence faction she and her friends had been in. It had been known as the _Legion of the White Sword_, a group consisting mostly of political science students, radicals, and the occasional gypsy with an education. She'd been one of the latter. It had met three times a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, to discuss the issue of the uprising that Adel had caused. She remembered, too, the day the Legion had been forced to disband.

**-------**

_"Meeting tonight. Twenty-hundred hours sharp. Don't be late," Kate said, as she smiled at Raine, before getting on her hovercraft veichle. Nodding, Raine had bid Kate farewell until the evening._

_At Twenty Hundred Hours, Raine entered the dingy little diner the resistance had chosen. She was one of the first to arrive, and as usual, she sat down at the bar, and ordered a drink._

_"Tough day?" Rich asked, pouring the drink of her choice. Raine nodded, and Rich knew what she was referring to. He'd fallen for her, years earlier, when she was only sixteen, and he, twenty. At twenty-two, Raine had been the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. They'd been unoffically a couple for approximately two years. Then something had happened which changed all that. A mission had been successful, and they celebrated with champagne and laughter. They'd each returned to their homes, yet Rich had gone with Raine under some pretext both of them knew was a lie._

_Richard Tudor--Rich, to his friends, was one of the founders of the Legion. It had begun after an event opened his eyes to the instability of the current ruler's reign. There'd been small uprisings begun by those who believed that Esthar should do away with the monarchy, and become a republic. He was of the firm belief that no, one could not just exchange one autocracy for the other. As a student of history, he had seen the mistakes made by others who had created revolutions only to end up oppressing those who had oppressed them._

_Rose Moore was the next person to enter the diner. She, along with Richard and Raine, had become friends and involved with the Legion by what had happened. Like the revolution that had allowed Vinzer Deling to claim the city that was formerly known as Oriana, they feared the same thing would happen in Esthar. Once Deling had taken Oriana, he renamed the city Deling, to show that he had complete control over the mob._

_The success of a revolution lay in the power of the mob. If the founders of a revolt were able to incite the mob against the rulers or the other side, there would be success. If not, then there would be hell to pay. The Legion was well aware of that fact, and it seemed to hang heavily in the air that night._

_When Abby Wilson had entered, it was apparent that they'd been discovered. Abby's left arm was partially severed and she was bleeeding profusely._

_"The damn bastards!" she hissed through the pain, "They found me before I could formulate an escape plan! I'm lucky to be alive, after what they did."_

_It came to light that Abby had been tapping the lines of high-ranking government officials, suspicious that someone from inside the parliament had been leaking inteligence to Adel's forces. She had been right, but she paid the price dearly, almost losing her arm. As Raine bandaged it, Abby had told the story, and when she was done, Raine's lips were pressed into a thin line, angry._

_They'd all been raised on legends of heroic deeds. Who knew the legends better than those directly concerned with them? In the era of their grandparents, many legends had been formed from heroic deeds done on the battlefield, later embellished with magical swords said to be drawn from stone, court magicians able to create tables where the seats were reserved for those deemed worthy for a place at the table. The Legion of the White Swords had been born from the tales of chivalry--legends that were as old as the hills, and far more numerous. Like so many heroic organisations, they pledged to be "all for one and one for all," and also "never to let harm to come to any innocent," and tried their hardest to live up to that pledge._

_Told by his grandparents and other well meaning relatives to stop playing the hero and grow up, Rich had been directed to enter the King's service at twenty one. The armed forces had not done as his relatives had hoped, but further strengthened the young man's desire to be a hero--to make a name of himself before he turned thirty. He left the King's service at twenty-three, and soon after, the Legion of the White Sword had been formed, dedicated to preserving the old ways._

_It would later be suggested that Seifer Almasy had drawn inspiration from the young Richard Tudor, some twenty odd years after all the heroics of his era had passed into folklore or hearsay. Had Richard lived to see the day when the young blonde foolishly became a Knight to the Sorceress Ultimecia, he would've dissuaded him in any way he could. By then, with the bitter taste of failure in his mouth, Richard had realised that his dreams, while noble and chivalric, were dead._

_Concerned for the members of the organisation which he begun in an innocent ploy to shed light on Adel, Rich spoke up then. "Alright. It's far too risky. We'll be caught eventually, so why not give up the fight now, while we can?" It was suggesting political suicide, but it needed to be done. Everyone in the room knew that._

_A sister of Kate's had a husband who was a member of Adel's legions. She knew, better than anyone else there what it meant. Kate bit her lip as she watched the group think of what they were to do, and realised that there was nothing that **could** be done to delay what appeared to be the inevitable._

_If there was one thing that the Legion had learnt through the bitter taste of defeat was that it could only do as much as the members were capable of. While it was easy to talk of being heroes, it was another thing to actually become them. The legends of the noble outlaw being loyal to the true king were drawn upon--painted up to incite and invite followers to the cause. However, it was far from it._

_Their last covert operation had been a success. Rich, with the help of Raine, Kate, and Abby, had successfully managed to reroute a secure connection from Adel's headquarters in one section of Esthar and send it to the command centre of the police. They'd effectively prevented a riot._

_When they disbanded that night, Raine had gone home to an empty house, a note on the table saying her housemates had been taken downtown to the police station for questioning. It was then that Raine had realised that it was no longer safe in Esthar. She packed her bags, never realising that she was pregnant with the child of Richard Tudor. She left that night, never to return. It would be the last time Richard would ever see her._

_He kissed her goodbye at the train station. The rain had been pounding down outside, but in the warmth of the shelter, they'd shared a final kiss, bittersweet. He could taste the salt from her tears in the kiss, and knew it was the final goodbye. Adjusting his glasses, he took his coat off, wrapping it around Raine for the warmth. She'd need it more than him. He could always buy another one. They'd hugged, promising empty promises to write. Both of them knew, however, that once they were separated, that was it._

_Nine months later, she gave birth to a girl. She called her Ellone._

_Raine later found out through complete accident that Richard had married a girl from the Rosetti clan of Trabia, and had died a horrendus death escaping from a failed attempt to blow up Adel's parliament when their car had collided with another, killing Richard and his wife instantly. Their son, Irvine Kinneas, would later become a companion and contemporary of her own son._

**-------**

Never once had Raine mentioned who Ellone's father was. It was one of those inconsequential matters when on the run. She'd begun to fabricate a lie that Ellone's parents had been killed in a raid, and insisted on Ellone calling Raine by her first name around strangers, while in private, it was to be mum or mother if the need be. What Raine had not counted on, in fact, had been that the lie was easier to live than the truth. Raine was haunted by Richard's features in Ellone--even the mannerisms were the same. With the lie, she could look past the fact that she'd lost Richard when she escaped Esthar that night. He'd died two years later carrying out a raid on Adel's manor.

The ghosts of the past were what Raine had to contend with every day she spent in Winhill. Thankfully, they had accepted her without comment, assuming that she'd been a young war widow from Esthar--which was partially true. But the only person Raine trusted with her past was Agnes, who had heard the entire story the day she'd arrived in Winhill with Ellone on her hip.

The light of morning had begun to creep over the town as she'd lost herself in the memories. With a sigh, she walked back to the cupboard, and put the harp back there. A warm glow of light greeted her in the kitchen, the sun seeming to smile upon the world that morning. Whatever had transpired the night before gave room to introspection, and as she busied about preparing breakfast for herself and the patient in the room above, she sang blithely.

* * *

**Author's Note:** (yup, another one)

The song Raine sings is called _Carrickfergus_, and I cannot be bothered to track down the composer. I first heard the song when my dad printed the lyrics, and then played it on his guitar. It's also sung by a singer who's name currently escapes my memory. For future referrence, most of the lyrics which are going to be popping up in the fic are Irish ballads and/or Scottish ballads. Whenever I know who wrote the song, I will credit them. Kudos to the wonderfully talented Ripley for saying (over an AIM conversation) that the composer of _Carrickfergus_ is widley debated, and therefore, cannot be tracked down to a single person. 

The plot to blow up Esthar's parliament is a reference to the event in the 1600's called Guy Fawkes Night (Bonfire Night) in which a Scotsman called Guy Fawkes was arrested for trying to blow up the British Parliament while King James II (I think--I'll get back to you on which King James it was), and his ministers were in session.


	3. The Care and Recovery of Laguna Loire

ï»¿ 

**Light on the Water **

**by Dragonbait **

**Chapter Two **

**The Care and Recovery of Laguna Loire **

**_Many women do noble things  
But you surpass them all_  
Proverbs 31:29 **

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Final Fantasy VIII_. If I did, would I be writing fanfiction? Nor do I own Thomas Crichton, who belongs to Gauntlet Challenge, and has kindly given me permission to use her character. I own Colum O'Donahue, Daniel Faulkner, Agnes Flannighan, and Rose Moore, however.

**Author's Note:** A humongous thanks goes to my fabulous friends at TNG...Those guys over there rock my world! To GC, Juls, Brian and Liv, especially, thanks for putting up with everything!

**----**

Four weeks had gone by since Laguna had arrived in Winhill. It was apparent to all but Raine and Agnes that with Laguna had come more news of the outside world which they'd isolated themselves from. War was on the horizon. It was rumoured that the King of Esthar was dead, and that Adel had struck whilst the iron was hot and seized power from the unsuspecting monarchy.

Nursing took a great deal of Raine's time and patience, but she did it without complaint. Knowing it was only a matter of time before the wind of change began to blow, Raine threw her energy and time into nursing Laguna back to health. She wasn't sure what compelled her to do so, but whatever it was, she enjoyed talking to him, learning about his past--and his infatuation for the beautiful Julia Heartilly, the singer.

"I met her once," he said, propped up by pillows. Raine was feeding him broth, made up from an old recipe found by Agnes in one of her cookbooks. It was a good, hearty soup, made with hocks of ham, chickpeas, lentils and all other types of things that were supposed to help ensure a swift recovery. "She was beautiful--but my leg cramped up, and, ah, I slunk away, back to the bar where I sat with my army buddies, Kiros and Ward."

Raine nodded, and found herself drawn to what he was saying. "It sounds like you had quite the number of exploits while in the army--enough to write a novel on."

Laguna smiled at Raine. He'd had a lot of time to think over what he'd seen and done during his stint in the Galbadian Army while convalescing. Parts of him wondered if he'd ever see those two again, Kiros, the tall one, with the coca-coloured skin, moving like he was liquid during battles, his Katals flashing as he swiftly disposed of the enemy. That was Kiros for him. Silent mostly and sarcastic when he did speak, yet always a voice of reason. Then there was Ward. Big and bulky, and hefted a massive-sized anchor as a weapon, he was one who stopped Laguna from going too far over the edge. They'd been the ones to encourage him that fateful night that he met Julia.

"I only joined the army to travel," he said, sipping the offered spoon of soup. Swallowing it, he continued to talk. "Like, there was this one time, when we were in Timber before Galbadia formally invaded, I'd brought along the wrong map. So we were standing in the middle of a clearing, and all of a sudden, these fungi things start attacking us," he laughed.

Raine smiled, and laughed along. Their conversations usually consisted of exchanging stories about various locations they'd been to. One conversation, in particular, had brought a smile to her face that had been there for three days after.

"You've been up into the Kashkabald Mountains, I take it?" Laguna asked one day, as he watched Raine with the cards and the harp. Raine nodded, continuing to shuffle the cards, not distracted by his questions.

Laying the cards out, she answered his question. "My family is from a tiny village in the Kashkabalds called Tingha," she said, her brow furrowed in concentration as she interpreted the tarot reading for the day.

Laguna had, it transpired, visited Tingha and knew the village well. "I'm guessing because of your surname that you're related to Luik?"

Raine blanched at the name of her brother. She'd not heard anything on her family for years, and suddenly a man named Laguna had not only visited Tingha, but had met her brother, Luik. It was far too coincidental to be dismissed lightly.

"How do you know him?" she asked, her emotions carefully guarded by a mask that had slipped on unconsciously.

He caught the fact that her question concealed any answers she might have given. Knowing not to pry too deeply from a previous experience, he replied cautiously. "He saved my life there. I was attacked by an angry Chimera, and it transpired that Luik had been tracking this Chimera for a week. I'd just been a fortunate victim, in Luik's eyes."

Raine smiled. That was like her brother. He'd spend weeks tracking animals to research them further. He claimed it was all in the interest of understanding monsters and their psyche. Luik had often fought with the elders of Tingha, who believed that the monsters should be killed, and he argued back, claiming that humankind was no better than the monster if they killed for the sake of killing. Often those disputes had led to him being excommunicated from the hall for a period of days, before the elders admitted, (grudgingly), that he had been right.

"He's my brother," she replied at last, as she returned her harp to the cupboard after tuning it. "And I haven't heard from him in years."

To herself, she said quietly, "And isn't it strange that you should meet someone who bore news of Luik?"

At that, Laguna let out a sharp bark of laughter. Luik had mentioned a sister named Rania, who had vanished into the forest when she had been fourteen. Luik related how one day, his sister had said she was going for a walk and never returned. He'd showed Laguna a portrait of Rania, painted by one of the master artisans of the town. The image swam before his eyes now, as he looked at Raine.

"Your name is Rania, isn't it?" he gently probed.

Alarmed, Raine glanced up. "How do you know that name?" she asked, alarm apparent in her voice.

"Luik showed me a picture of a girl at fourteen who looked like you. He claimed that she'd disappeared one day, and that in all likelihood had gone to Esthar. He also said that his sister was exceptionally talented with a harp, and I know for a fact that you play one," Laguna said. He knew that his journalistic mind would be proud of the deduction.

"Those are just coincidences," Raine said dismissively. "And if Luik's sister had gone to Esthar, then wouldn't she have been killed?"

Laguna scratched his head, the bones in his arms mended. Although he was yet to regain full strength and mobility in his body, he was well on the way to recovery. "I'm not too sure," Laguna responded after a few minutes. The portrait he'd seen of Rania seemed to hang before his eyes, like MacBeth's dagger hung before him. Deciding not to push the matter further, he let it drop. If she wanted to talk about it, he'd let her do so in her own time, and under her own conditions.

Scratching his nose slightly, he smirked. "Is there anything to do? I'm getting rather bored," he said petulantly, longing to be free of the confines of his bed.

Raine frowned, her mind still on the discussion as to how Laguna knew Luik Leonhart. With a shy smile, she turned to him, looking over at the growing pile of mending that needed doing. "How good are you with a needle and thread?" she asked.

Laguna soon found himself mending things while Raine worked on a quilt. It was almost winter again, the leaves falling from the trees in splendid orange and crimson patterns, littering the town square as they fell. Her quilt design was inspired by the falling leaves, watching each day as more fell from the trees onto the waiting ground. Ellone's sixth birthday came, and with it, came the Winter Solstice celebrations.

To Raine, Winter Solstice was a time of reflection--a time to think over the past year, on her mistakes and triumphs, over her successes and failures. To many, Winter Solstice was a time for eating the scrumptious fare of the season. Ham, glazed with marmalade and spiced with cloves was eaten, along with the fatted geese and turkeys that had been some child's unfortunate pet. Poverty would see many lined up outside shelters in the big cities, vying for food, warmth and shelter from the cold icy wind that blew shrilly.

The town of Winhill celebrated the Winter Solstice with feasting, churchgoing and merrymaking. One of the town's famous traditions was its tree, which had been planted from a seedling by the founder of the town, a woman named Talliana deGroot. Each year, the townsfolk would decorate the tree with their favourite decorations, carefully hoarded by families for generations. It would be Raine's first true celebration of the Solstice since coming to Winhill four years ago. That night, she lit candles in the window, the old traditions and ways returning.

For the first time in years, Raine felt truly at peace with herself. She'd found a town where she felt like she belonged--where she meant something to the townsfolk. She wasn't just a nameless face amongst the crowds, like she would've been in Esthar, nor was she the daughter of the Chief--and therefore required to do her duties as the "Princess of Winter," as they dubbed her each year.

The days grew shorter, and the nights grew longer. Snow began to fall in soft, powdery flakes, and Raine watched as Daniel and Colum, married now, with children of their own, shared the delights of lighting the first candles on the tree with their firstborns. She did that with Laguna and Ellone that first Solstice. But, although there was much rejoicing, there was also sorrow. Agnes Flannighan's husband, Paidrag, had died suddenly, and Agnes was now alone--her children scattered like grains of rice to each corner of the globe.

The cheery atmosphere of Raine's pub was enhanced further with the open fireplace housing a crackling fire. The regulars, along with most of the townspeople gathered on Solstice Eve for the traditional opening carols that were a prelude to the dawn sermon the next morning. Holly boughs and mistletoe adorned the walls, and over the fireplace hung the wreath of red holly berries, mistletoe and holly. The tradition of Winhill was that if presented with a sprig of Mistletoe, the person had to accept it, or be branded the Solstice Fool. That year, the Solstice Fool was Colum's small son, Matthew. He was five years old, and a bright, intelligent chap. Always seen far from his mother's skirts, he would climb into Agnes' lap unbidden, where he would receive treats and caresses. He didn't mind the treats, but the caresses he protested manfully against.

**-----**

Rose Moore stood at the town gates of Winhill. She'd caught wind that Rania was still alive, and was now living under the assumed name of Raine Leonhart. Her icy blue eyes scanned the town, and a hand went to her cropped caramel coloured hair. Standing at five foot, nine and a half, she was taller than most women, formidable to look at. Hoisting her rucksack over her shoulder, she stepped forth, her boots making diamond patterns on the untouched snow.

Rose also knew about the child. Through links with people in the hospital, she'd learnt that Raine had given birth to a daughter--obviously hers and Richard's. Rose wanted to see the child for herself, to know whether or not the daughter held more of Richard's features than Rania's. It would be interesting to see her again. Taking steps towards the church, she wasn't sure what drew her to the hallowed building. Rose pushed open the door and breathed in the scent of incense. It smelt like frangipani and sandalwood, the exotic floral scent mingling with the more homey scent of wood. The church itself was old, built approximately three hundred years ago by stonemasons and carpenters when the town was first established. Now, the church stood as a monument to the many lives that had been sacrificed to the slaughter of innocents, and to the lives that had been dedicated to the worship of the goddess.

She walked halfway down the church, pausing when she reached the middle pew. She didn't know what drew her there, but she knelt down, hands clasped in front of her and pointing heavenwards.

For the first time in many years, Rose prayed. The simple action of asking for forgiveness for her sins had not been done since she was young. "Forgive me, Goddess Mother, for I have sinned so horribly beyond all retribution. For what I have done, I deserve to go to the Ninth circle of hell..." she whispered, feeling her cheeks wet with tears. "I killed a man who didn't deserve to die, who had a family of his own to care for.."

She didn't hear the words of the priest who had overheard her confession. Rose, blinded by the tears that had fallen, stood up. The confession had drained her, both emotionally and spiritually. The priest placed a hand on Rose's shoulder. Startled, Rose's hand went to her pocket, where she felt for her gun, drawing it. Spinning around, she calmed visibly when she saw it was a priest.

"Please, don't scare me like that again," Rose said, her gun still trained on the priest. "I won't hesitate to kill you."

_And the bullets aren't meant for you_, she thought grimly.

"Put the gun down," the priest said, "And tell me what's troubling you. This is a house of Hyne, and I will not have it be defiled by murder."

Rose looked at the priest in amazement. "What makes me think I'd tell you. What do you know about being a fugitive from Esthar?"

Blanching at the name, Esthar, and remembering the night that Adel had almost torched Winhill because of young Raine and her child, he frowned. It was too coincidental that three Estharian fugitives had made their way to the town. He wasn't frightened, but he loved his flock too dearly to let any wolves attack them. Father Gavin Rourke had seen it happen before, and would die before letting it happen again.

"You'd be surprised," he said dryly. Father Gavin had seen the days when Esthar had been ruled by the King. Now, however, it was under the control of a megalomaniac sorceress hell-bent on finding Raine Leonhart and her daughter. Remembering that fateful day when Raine had come seeking sanctuary in the Church, he couldn't help but wonder if this young woman standing before him was the same.

"Oh, would I?" Rose replied, her hands still clutched tightly around the butt of the gun. "Tell that to Richard Tudor, tell that to his wife and child... They're dead because of Esthar, and I want to know if Rania is still alive."

"Rania?" Father Gavin repeated, "There's nobody of that name in Winhill. Do you have a surname to go with that?"

"Leonhart."

Father Gavin now understood why Adel had stormed the town several years earlier. It had been to do with the gypsy woman, Raine. Also, he knew the truth. Raine had confessed to him in the privacy of a confessional. She'd received an absolution from him for those sins.

Nodding, he smiled. "I know her...But if you're on Adel's side, I can tell you she won't welcome you with open arms," he warned. Motioning for Rose to follow him, Father Gavin walked the mile to the pub.

Rose followed him, her boots crunching in the snow. She could see the diamond-pattern her shoes made, and knew that they'd be covered by the time she reached the pub. The snow was falling, some falling on her eyelashes, other flakes made their way to her jacket, melting instantly combined with the heat from her body. She stuck out her tongue, catching a few snowflakes on her tongue. When they reached the pub, Rose could hear a familiar voice singing along with the distinctive sound coming from a harp.

Pushing open the door, Father Gavin stepped in, holding the door for Rose to follow in. Father Gavin walked over to Raine, and smiled paternally at her. "There is someone here for you to see," he said, while Raine took a sip of water.

Raine glanced around, before seeing the distinctive caramel-coloured hair, standing at the back of the pub, looking uncertain. _Rose? How did you find me?_

She looked at Father Gavin, then back at Rose. Standing up, and handing the harp to Laguna, she walked over to Rose. "Rose?" she asked, "What are you doing here? I thought you were dead..."

"I thought you were dead, too, Rania," Rose replied in dialect. They had switched back into dialect known to the Estharian region. It was always a saftey precaution. The dialect was very similar to the dialect Raine knew in Tingha. She looked around, seeing that Laguna was entertaining the crowd.

"Rose, you didn't answer my question. I want to know why you are here," Raine snapped. She hadn't parted on good terms with Rose, as they'd argued over who was more deserving of Richard. It was a stupid argument, in retrospect. She glared at Rose, waiting for Rose to answer the question.

"I'm here because I heard that a woman from Winhill defied Adel. I had reason enough to believe it was you who did it. You're the only person she really fears," Rose explained in a low undertone, making certain that they would not be overheard, even if they were conversing in dialect.

**-----**

From a side corner in the bar, Laguna watched Raine converse with the woman. He didn't know what they were talking about, because he couldn't lip-read. But he thought it was important, gathering from the way they were using hushed voices and standing quite close to one another. He scratched his head, and poured another glass of beer for the men.

"Who's the chick Raine's talking to?" Fergus O'Donahue asked Laguna. Laguna shrugged.

"Dunno," he replied, handing the schooner of beer to him. Little Ellone was standing next to him, hidden out of sight. He loved the child as his own, and would do anything to save her. Perhaps that was the reason he stayed in Winhill, to look after the child and repay the kindness shown to him by Raine, Agnes Flannighan and several of the other women of the village.

The wood fire crackled merrily in the grate, casting a warm glow of light around the merrymakers. The flames caught the highlights in the women's hair, and the flecks of grey in some of the men's beards. The light played upon the walls, casting eerie shadows that would've looked sinister if Laguna hadn't known better.

Laguna sighed suddenly, sad. He wasn't sure why he was sad, but it seemed so depressing, watching the families sing carols and exchange gifts. He had nobody to go home to. If he went home to Deling, he'd be going back to an empty house, and no friends there to speak to. For the first time since he came to Winhill, Laguna felt envious of Raine. He didn't know why. He assumed that she would have married, had the opportunity came up, and for that, he wanted her for himself. It was not like his infatuation with Julia.

_I wonder how Julia is...Whether she's written that song she was trying to write...If she married, and whom to... _His thoughts were jumbled. _I'm not jealous if she's married...She deserves happiness...I, on the other hand, am alone in the dark...There's nothing and nobody left in Deling City for me...Even my mother is dead..._

Unconciously, Laguna began to sing a song he'd heard Raine singing. _Carrickfergus._

When he reached the end of the verse, he felt his throat constricted by a sort of longing. He wanted to see the gravestones of his parents, but remembered that he didn't know where they were buried. He'd been gone on a mission with the army, and one day, he'd returned home to an empty house, and a note from the parish priest, Father Heffernan, saying that his parents had taken ill, and suddenly died. Laguna had not wept for them at the time, but in private, in the dark hours of the night, he'd cried. They'd only been in their early sixties. He'd been twenty one.


End file.
